This is the talk.  This is an intervention.  This is your conscience speaking.  The one who lives inside you and watches you all the time.  We are all here.

What are you doing?  There is this roiling in your stomach again that we do not like.  There is a flutter in your heart that only came out when that other disaster is happening.  There is a panic in your head again, a smokiness, an unsure quality that we do not like the taste of, or the feel of.  There are goosebumps most times as well, what is this?  Have we not been through enough?

And you are lying again.  You say that this is not what it looks like, but what else can it be than what it looks like it is.  There is no metaphor here, this is what it is.  Thinly veiled as the thing you are trying for it not be, but it is, and you may lie to them, you may lie to others, but you cannot lie to us, we are the council inside your head, and we are calling bullshit on your lies.

You say you are strong, but child you are not.  You are weak like old thread, like a filament of cobweb in a dark corner of a musty room.  You are weak and you no match against the butterflies that invade.  The ones whose wings can do so much damage just by one single twitch.  And it is a veritable army of butterflies that is coming your way it is.

You will either stop this madness immediately or we will not hesitate to shut down and leave you, and you know what happened the last time we did that, the last time you let yourself be consumed by butterflies.

It was like a fire, it was.

kiss. big wet and sloppy and tongue rolling and licking and sucking and upper lip and lower lip and parting and teeth and saliva and slurp and give and take and kiss. this is how it starts. faces come close together. aptly called ‘kissing distance’ from each other. eyes delve. lips purse, pout, and point in the general area of the other. faces turn up, down, sideways, lips meet. at first it is a tender affair, a mere brush of the soft flesh against yielding skin. this is the ’sweet’ kiss. this is the kiss of dreams, and lazy summer afternoons, and warm breezes and clean white sheets blowing in the wind. then, as the kiss builds, more muscle is poured on the action, more contortions of the face, more tension in the necks as the whole head is given in to the passion of making the kiss feel as good as possible. then, mouths part as the tongue enters into the arena. probing, darting, daring. it moves in frantic waves, and it is never still. there isnt anything tender about the kiss anymore. it may now be better termed as a sucking of faces. lower lip is taken, then upper lip, then whole mouth. the barrage is quick and decisive, and lips and mouth and face and neck are always busy, always moving, never still or idle. this is the ‘passionate’ kiss. intense, strong, in every way dominant and seeking to devour, seeking to take in as much of the partner as possible. it is cannibalistic in nature, the whole affair taking on a primal, animalistic tone. this is caveman behavior, this is pure and basic. there is no doubt about the lust for each other. this is not the time to speak of forever, not the time for promises, not the time for fun and games. you will find no space for candy, or strawberries, or sweet words here. this is a stormy sea of emotion now, and it is expressed best in this moment of violence, this passionate kiss.

then it ends. two ways: slowly, like a languid stretch from a deep and fitful sleep, or abruptly, leaving the head reeling and the knees shaking. either way, when the kiss ends there is a feeling of being abandoned, pathetically bereft. surprised at being so suddenly left alone. the lips tingle as with memories of being so recently demanded upon to feel and take and partake. the taste of the other’s lips linger, and there is an overwhelming feeling of wanting to do it again, even with the knowledge that to do so would be sacrilege to the act of the kiss being a moment that should not be exploited, should not be repeated again and again at whim, lest it should lose its future potency. and slowly, the memory itself fades. the lips once again become mere parts of the face, as opposed to the separate sentient receptacles of pleasure that they so recently were. rational thinking sets in again, and the rest of the body is composed so as to resemble what a body’s state should be when it is not in the middle of a kiss. when it is not in the middle of a sweet, passionate, glorious kiss.

Excerpt from “So You’re Dating a Geek”, in a chapter for women.

Men aren’t the most sensitive creatures in the world, and the geek guy subspecies is certainly no exception. They are indifferent bordering on the apathetic, which by now really should not come as a surprise. We learned in Chapter 2, The Geek Comfort Zone, that geeks can be highly territorial and would oftentimes create a nest of “stuff” around them, especially collector geeks (see Table 2.3, Geeks and Their Toys and Table 2.21, Example Habitats). In Chapter 4, The Geek Psyche, we saw how geeks have highly organized and structured minds that are capable of long periods of concentration and focus (e.g. interminably long hours of game play, Internet surfing, or model building). These are not bad traits in themselves, and as such can be channeled towards ensuring the success of your relationship with a geek. Read the rest of this entry »